


Emergence

by Asidian



Category: 999: Nine Hours Nine Persons Nine Doors - Fandom
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Restraints, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room was dark, but that’s how it was meant to be. It was designed that way: no windows, too little light, no privacy to speak of. It contained a filthy toilet, a dingy sink, a shabby desk, a blanket on the narrow cot that was too thin to keep out the cold. The slit in the door admitted meals, which Gentarou had personally requested be limited to one a day, of insufficient portions.</p><p>After all, he had an impression to make. With the experiment scheduled to begin in bare days, he wanted the subjects to know just how serious he was. Just how serious the situation could be. Behind those faces, interchangeable to him, there were minds that showed great promise- and he intended to give them every reason to succeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergence

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: This was my first fic written for this fandom, in the days immediately after I’d finished the game and couldn’t get it out of my mind. It was a request from the 999 kink meme- Ace/Santa, humiliation- which ended up with no sex or shipping whatsoever, but did get a whole lot darker than I’d intended.

The room was dark, but that’s how it was meant to be. It was designed that way: no windows, too little light, no privacy to speak of. It contained a filthy toilet, a dingy sink, a shabby desk, a blanket on the narrow cot that was too thin to keep out the cold. The slit in the door admitted meals, which Gentarou had personally requested be limited to one a day, of insufficient portions.

After all, he had an impression to make. With the experiment scheduled to begin in bare days, he wanted the subjects to know just how serious he was. Just how serious the situation could be. Behind those faces, interchangeable to him, there were minds that showed great promise- and he intended to give them every reason to succeed. 

Before the start of the Nonary game, every subject would know very well that the danger was real. The chair would help with that. Their cells would help with that. So would the starvation rations. But if he could push them on their way, peel back the cocoon and let them emerge more gracefully, how could he deny them that final extra assistance?

It was with that thought in his mind and a considering smile on his lips that Gentarou swung wide the door, stepping in with perhaps too little presence of mind, given the situation. After all, the eldest boy had ended his latest session in the chair not half an hour previously, and the technician in charge of the machinery today had informed him that they’d put the hammer to use, in addition to the standard procedure. The Kurashiki boy ought to be recovering, still. He ought to be lying down on the cot, nursing new bruises and wishing he had something for lunch.

He most certainly wasn’t supposed to be standing by the wall, stool raised above his head, as Gentarou stepped through the door. He most certainly wasn’t supposed to be glaring with his ambiguous eyes as he brought it down toward Gentarou’s head.

And when Gentarou started, reached up to grab hold of it, and yanked it roughly from the boy’s hands, he most certainly wasn’t supposed to launch himself at the man, hands balled into fists, a sound like a repressed snarl issuing from his throat. The first blow landed, and the second. The Kurashiki boy had an advantage over the other subjects in size, to be sure, but the extra few years didn’t give him the bulk of a fully-grown man, and it certainly didn’t negate the fact that the pre-experiment sessions must be taking their toll.

It was a simple enough matter to step back, letting the boy come to him, and reach up to grab hold of first one pale wrist and then another. The boy snarled again, pulled back with all his weight and brought his foot sharply upward, angling between Gentarou’s legs. It would have taken him to his knees, had it connected, but he he did not let it get that far: with the Kurashiki boy’s foot up off the ground and arms out of the equation, it wasn’t a difficult matter to topple him. All it took was a booted foot to the knee of the leg still grounding him, a rough shove backward at the same moment that he released the hands, and the boy went down in an ungainly tangle of limbs.

“A little assistance, please,” Gentarou called through the still-open door. As the boy twisted and attempted to rise, he heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. By the time the subject had gathered his legs under him and was lunging again, two men in white coats had appeared, needles in hand. Gentarou did not know which they were; in their laboratory outfits, his employees were interchangeable to him, but the important thing was that they had come when he called as they were meant to. One was holding the boy, already, twisting his arms so that they were pinned behind his back; the second was jabbing a needle into his neck as the subject twisted and spat and yowled like a wild animal.

“What? Can’t handle me alone?” The Kurashiki boy’s words were laughable, but the tone made them a demand. As Gentarou watched, he lashed out with his foot again. He was not close enough to reach, but it was a spirited attempt, nevertheless. “C’mon, asshole. You need three guys to take me?”

The injection was doing its work already; the boy’s struggles were growing weaker, more sluggish. “You got- you got lucky, this time.” The words were slurred, now, indistinct. “That’s all. Next time- next time, I’m gonna-“

But that was all he managed. The sentence gave out midway; the boy’s shoulders slumped, and he tipped forward.

Gentarou brushed off the front of his jacket, as though wiping away the subject’s touch. “Bring him to the chair again.” He stared down at the boy- at the uniform, at the short, strangely-colored hair. Beneath it, there was nothing to see- nothing worth looking at, at least. “Then leave us alone.”

===

The Kurashiki boy awoke with a groan, shifting slightly in his bonds. Gentarou watched as his arms flexed, testing the strength of the restraints, observed as he repeated the process for his legs. Finally, the boy lifted his face- eyes bright with anger, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. Together, the details told him nothing useful. He may as well have selected a different subject altogether, if not for the little label in the file outside the boy’s door- if not for the fact that he had watched his employees move the subject from his room, unconscious, not ten minutes hence.

Aoi Kurashiki, he told himself, as he watched the way the boy’s brows pulled down, creasing his forehead. Aoi Kurashiki. But by the time he had glanced away and back again, the face had become inscrutable once more- a stranger on the street, for all the familiarity it contained.

Gentarou smiled blandly to cover the twinge of dissatisfaction that the realization always sent through him. “Did you have a pleasant nap?”

“Fuck you.” One of the boy’s arms was still twisting against the straps, seeking escape. Gentarou fixed his eyes upon it, curiosity caught. Surely the subject knew by now that the chair was not so easily escaped, and yet he persisted. Perhaps it was a subconscious reaction?

“You don’t need to be contrary,” Gentarou informed him, mildly. “After all, my visit was for your benefit.” He crossed to the panel of machinery nearby, stared into the dim glow of the screen.

“Yeah? Well, you can take your benefits and shove em up your-“

The idle push of a button coincided neatly with the scream that truncated the end of the sentence. The Kurashiki boy bucked in the chair as his muscles spasmed, mouth wide, eyes clenched shut. Gentarou watched his face as it screamed- watched the anonymous planes and valleys of it contort. Back and forth it went, as the boy thrashed his head from side to side.

Another touch of the button caused the scream to dissipate, leaving ragged breathing to take its place. “You don’t need to be contrary,” Gentarou repeated. “After all, my visit was for your benefit.” This time, his announcement was met with silence. There was something sullen in the set of the boy’s shoulders, a wary resentment- but he did not interrupt.

“Very good. Now tell me. Are you familiar with the word ‘emergency’?” As Gentarou spoke, he allowed his feet to wander, to bring him alongside the table that was spread with the tools necessary for the success of this room. He let his eyes drift across them, consideringly, and did not wait for the subject to reply. “It means something urgent. Something dangerous. Most people are aware of that fact.”

“What most people are not aware of,” he continued, “is that it shares a root with the word ‘emerge’.” His fingers found the grip of the hammer that lay there and curled about it; he hefted it experimentally, feeling its weight. From the corner of his eye, he could make out the Kurashiki boy as he shrank back as far as the bonds would allow him. Today’s session had made an impression, then. 

“Emerge- a verb. To come forth; to arise out of; to develop. It makes sense, don’t you think? Only in an emergency can our true potential come forth. Only when the danger is sharpest can the things we are capable of arise.” Gentarou took the hammer with him as he began to walk, idly, back to the spot where the subject was restrained. “So you see, by introducing an element of emergency, we intend nothing more than to evoke your full potential. A becoming, if you will. An arising. An emergence.”

Gentarou leaned toward the boy- observed the way his fingers gripped the armrests on the chair, so tight that his knuckles had gone white. Very gently, Gentarou traced the head of the hammer over each of those knuckles, over the prominent bones in his wrist. The hand shook; the Kurashiki boy’s voice shook, too, when he spoke “You’re goddamn insane. You know that? You are one sick bastard.”

Gentarou continued as though he had not spoken. “But for that to occur,” he explained, “You must understand that the emergency is very real. We do not bluff.” The hammer traveled up the arm, still frightfully gentle; it left its touch upon the boy’s elbow, his shoulder, his collarbone. “We do not compromise. The change must come from you, or it will not come at all.”

Suddenly, with an almost casual air, Gentarou brought the hammer up to shoulder height. When it came down against the boy’s torso, it made a muffled thump. He had not swung with his full strength; he did not wish to cause undue damage, with the experiment scheduled to begin so soon. Pain, however, was certainly in order. More bruising would do nicely. 

The Kurashiki boy cried out, twisting to escape the blow. A second followed, and then a third. The tendons in the subject’s arms stood out with the strain of trying to pull free.

“Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you?” The hammer went up and came down again. “We are creating the ideal circumstances. We are working toward a goal.” Up and down. “When I say that this is for your benefit, I mean nothing less. Do you understand me?” This time, he brought the hammer up and let it linger. The head was poised above the delicate lines of the subject’s right hand; a hard blow here would break bones. “Do you understand?”

“I understand!” The Kurashiki boy’s voice was strange, hoarse. There was an edge of panic to it; he gasped the words. “I understand!”

“Well done. I thought you might.” Gentarou lowered his arm, and the subject was still; the boy’s breath came in ragged pants. “Now. I believe an apology is in order. Don’t you?” He set the hammer down, gently, upon the surface of the machine beside the chair.

“Yeah. Sure.” The subject laughed, but it was shaky; there was no humor in it. “Sorry makes everything better, right? Go on, if you gotta.”

“Perhaps you didn’t understand, after all.” Gentarou turned his gaze thoughtfully toward the recently-discarded tool.

Alarm sprang up in the wake of those words; it was visible in the sudden jerk of the boy’s head as he turned to follow Gentarou’s eyes, in the way his jaw was clenched. “No! I- I got it.”

“Did you really?” Gentarou regarded the hammer a moment longer- regarded the button that would flood the boy’s body with electricity. Instead, he triggered the release mechanism. “Show me, then.”

For a moment, the subject did not move at all; in the unremarkable expanse of his face, the mouth fell slightly agape. The boy lifted one hand and then the other, slowly, as though expecting some deceit. He was unsteady on his feet when he stood- a combination of the recent pain, the adrenaline rush, and the remnants of the drugs, doubtless.

“Sorry.” The word was unsure. It sounded more like a guess than an apology.

Gentarou did not move from the spot beside the machinery. The hammer was within easy reach, if he needed it. “Go on.”

“Sorry I, uh… tried to jump you.” The subject shifted slightly- glanced from Gentarou to the hammer. Ever so briefly, his eyes flickered toward the door. “Before.”

Gentarou made no indication that he’d seen the gesture. “Because?”

There was a slight pause. The Kurashiki boy’s brow creased slightly, as though he were thinking this over. “Because it’s all for my benefit.” It was almost a question, the tone uncertain- but they were the words that Gentarou had wished to hear. They were the indication that the subject had understood.

“Very good.” Gentarou smiled, a genuinely pleased expression. It was the sort of smile he imagined he might bestow upon a bright pupil, if he ever deigned to teach. “Now make it a proper apology, and we’ll begin from where we were meant to, before you turned this into a tremendous waste of time.”

“A proper apology.” The statement was flat, less a clarification than a repetition. The furtive glance toward the door flickered again and was gone.

“More formal,” Gentarou told the boy. “More gracious. Also, on your knees.”

He was expecting the boy to bolt. He was expecting the sudden rush as the subject gathered his legs beneath him and lunged. He was even expecting the speed that desperation can grant. What he was not expecting, however, was for the Kurashiki boy to bolt toward him. 

By the time he was groping for the handle of the hammer, the subject’s fingers were already closing around it; by the time he ought to have been ending an ill-advised escape attempt, the boy was flinging it into his face. Gentarou got his hands up with a fraction of a second to spare, but even with the partial barricade, the blow sent bursts of pain flooding through his nose, white-hot and shockingly immediate. A harsh cry escaped his throat, and he clapped his hand over his nose, feeling the hot spray of blood against his fingers. It ran down his lips, flooded his mouth with salty copper. Dimly, he was aware of the Kurashiki boy scrabbling at the door, looking for the way to open it.

“Fuck!” the boy was saying. “Fuck! Open, you son of a bitch!”

Gentarou took his hands away from his nose; they were slick and red, and the blood continued to drip freely down past his chin, onto his shirt. The Kurashiki boy had braced his feet against the floor and was leaning back with his full weight, trying to force the door now. It was a perfect opportunity for Gentarou to bend down and pick up the hammer, and in a fit of inspiration, he crossed to the table still laden with tools. He had just selected the adze with his other hand when the subject whirled to face him, eyes wild, chest heaving.

“The door won’t open from there,” Gentarou informed him mildly, and felt his mouth lift into a smile. When he spoke, the blood rushed into his mouth. It coated his tongue; his nose throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Gentarou took three steps nearer; he stood blocking the walkway back to the machinery. The Kurashiki boy’s breathing was labored, irregular- some of the gasps had begun to sound remarkably like sobs.

When the subject launched himself for the railing, intending to scramble over it, Gentarou was ready for him, this time. The hammer caught the boy just beneath the shoulder blade- a careful blow, for it would not do to waste the effort he’d invested so far by accidentally killing the boy now. It would not do to spoil the coming experiment in a fit of anger. Still, the strike was sufficient to knock the subject over; he went sprawling down, flat on his back, and Gentarou followed up with a series of heavy, booted kicks, telling himself that this was necessary to subdue the boy. This had nothing to do with the blood still leaking from his injured nose.

After the last kick had fallen, Gentarou straightened. He lifted the adze, almost thoughtfully. “Apologize,” he instructed again, tone even.

The boy’s voice was choked. “I’m sorry.” Fear had crept into it, now.

“Evidently not sorry enough.” Gentarou fixed him with a flat stare. “I said do it on your knees.”

It was remarkable how fast the subject scrambled to obey. Shaking, the Kurashiki boy righted himself, used his hands to keep himself steady as he folded his knees beneath him. “I’m sorry.”

Gentarou waited, expectantly. The subject swallowed. His hands were fists bunched against his thighs, now; every knuckle was clenched so tightly it had turned white.

“More formal,” Gentarou prompted, to aid the boy’s memory. “More gracious.”

The Kurashiki boy hesitated a moment longer. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. 

It occurred to Gentarou in a passing, vaguely interested way that perhaps this was difficult for him. The Kurashikis were the set without parents, after all. From the information his employees had gathered in the file, the boy was independent; he was used to earning his own way, to making his own decisions. He was used to relying on himself to solve his own problems. How galling it must be, to discover that another had the answers all along. To learn that what he’d thought was best had been mistaken. To realize that one cannot emerge without a guiding hand.

“I’m sorry,” the subject said again. It sounded as though each word were an effort for him. They were brittle around the edges, as though they’d become caught in his throat. “I’m sorry I… misunderstood. I didn’t realize what you intended.” The words shuddered to a halt, then resumed. “I should have known.”

“Much better.” Gentarou’s smile widened just a little- became something indulgent and slightly fond, in spite of the stream of blood that still trickled down to soak the front of his shirt. “Now, go back to the chair.”

The subject stilled, then lifted his head slowly. There was something in his posture, in the look in his eyes. Perhaps it was defiance. Perhaps it was a plea. Whatever it might have been, Gentarou ignored it and hefted the adze, casually. “I said, ‘Go back to the chair.’”

There was a moment’s pause before the subject made to rise. Gentarou did not let him get far, but lay the blade of the adze gently across his back, tracing the muscles there as carefully as he had traced the bones earlier, with the hammer. All at once the boy froze, precisely as he’d been meant to. “No,” Gentarou told him. “I don’t think you need to stand up. You cause too much trouble on your feet.”

Confusion mingled with alarm in the protest. “But you said-“

“I only said to go back.” Gentarou shook his head, disappointment coloring the words. The adze’s blade crossed the subject’s spine in the path of its gentle circle. “You don’t need to stand up to do it. Do you?”

There was a moment with no response. The Kurashiki boy’s head was down, incomprehensible face toward the floor. His shoulders trembled beneath the blade.

Then, very slowly, he began to crawl back the way he’d come. He moved down the walkway, over the glass in the floor. Gentarou moved with him, walking alongside with the blade. When they had reached the chair, the next set of instructions were ready at hand. “Now sit down.”

There was no attempt to reach for a weapon, this time. There was no sudden lunge for the door. The proximity of the blade had assured him of obedience.

The metallic click as the arm restraints closed around the boy’s wrists was immensely satisfying.


End file.
